


Enemy Mine

by Chiauve



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, RE5, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 08:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiauve/pseuds/Chiauve
Summary: After the events of Re5, Chris Redfield finds himself stuck in the past. Until he can find a way home he decides to take down Umbrella at its beginnings. Once more a cop, he and his team liberate the Wesker children from Umbrella. For reasons even he doesn’t understand, Chris takes in his former enemy to raise to ensure the events of the future do not come to pass. Yet it seems like destiny is intent to do so, whether Chris or even Wesker want it or not.





	1. November, 1968

****

Artwork by [Pelissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pelissa/pseuds/Pelissa)

 

* * *

 

**Part 1: The Boy**

 

The first time Chris noticed that something was wrong was when he couldn't find his truck.

In hindsight this was probably not so bad a thing, considering how drunk he was, but in his stupor he convinced himself he was only going to sleep it off in the truck, not drive it. Still the damn thing wasn't where he was sure he parked it a couple of hours ago. He decided to crash on a bench until a cop chased him off and hopefully by then he'd be sober enough to remember where he parked.

He glanced at his phone: it was past two in the morning and there was an unread message from Jill, hours old and asking where he was. She was worried about him and that just made Chris feel worse. After everything that had happened, what she'd been through, what Wesker had done to her, he should be the one taking care of her, yet here he was. Stumbling around in the street looking for a bench because he was too drunk to find his truck.

The guilt only made him feel worse and increased his need for another beer. He knew he was spiraling and yet couldn't seem to stop himself.

They'd won. Wesker was dead. After ten long years that bastard was finally dead. He should be glad, he should be relieved, he should feel _something_. They'd escaped, he'd gotten Jill back, that fucking _monster_ was dead and as they flew away he felt the euphoria of survival, of triumph, of…

And then the euphoria faded and he was left with nothing, not even the drive that had pushed him forward for so long. BOW were still produced, new viruses being created, and he would keep fighting but…

Wesker was dead and yet things continued to get worse.

It was such a waste.

The BSAA managed to uncover what few records were left of Project W from Spencer's mansion and the true insanity of Umbrella was revealed. A new breed of humanity and the quest for immortality. Albert Wesker had been part of that plan, raised by Umbrella to serve their purposes and bent and twisted to their world view since childhood.

Chris didn't pity the man, but the implication itself. These highly intelligent children had all been raised for supposed greatness and then sent off to die for nothing. Only Albert survived the T-virus and in the end accomplished nothing in either his life or his death.

The only good that had come from him had been a farce, and that was STARS. It was only two years of Chris' life and yet at the time STARS had been everything to him; his second chance after the Air Force discharged him, and Wesker's hand in that second chance was undeniable. Barry scouted out Chris but it was Wesker who officially swore him in.

The STARS captain had been distant but not unapproachable, expecting the best from his unit and getting them there through guidance or the proverbial kick in the ass when they were anything less, while at the same time he was lax enough in anything he deemed unimportant to functionality. He didn't care that they didn't have official uniforms and let STARS members wear whatever they wanted so long as their gear was up to standard. He didn't care how the offices looked or how individual desks were organized or disorganized so long as the place was swept up and dusted now and again, records were where they were supposed to be, and sensitive materials were properly secured at the end of the day. He didn't say anything when Joseph brought his guitar to work or that Brad seemed to come and go at random so long as his work got done. It created a relaxed atmosphere that, after the rigidity of the military, Chris could appreciate.

In turn none of the members of STARS mentioned that it was obvious that the magazines Wesker was reading during breaks was porn hidden in a _Jane's Defense Weekly_ cover.

(Just another part of the lie, or proof Wesker had indeed once been human? Chris never figured that one out.)

And that was the worst of it: it was a lie. Wesker was just an agent dropped into the RPD to protect Umbrella assets and eventually walk STARS to their deaths for the sake of combat data.

But how much had been a lie? What was Wesker the farce and what was the truth? After everything it shouldn't have mattered but it _did_. His position was assured by Umbrella, he could have gotten by with the bare minimum and let Enrico pick up the slack and yet Wesker seemed to work just as hard as any of them if not more so. He worked long hours; he was there in the morning when Chris came in and he was still there when he left creating a running gag that Wesker lived in the RPD. He organized multiple sessions in the mountains and fought tooth and nail for access to their helicopters for extra training that could last days until Chris could repel from the air and catch and cook a squirrel in his sleep.

It was mostly Wesker who kept Chief Irons out of their affairs. Chris had been notorious in the beginning for ignoring orders during a mission and striking out on his own. Most of the time his instinct served him well and things turned out alright but he'd still get near-endless lectures from Wesker on the matter, but that was all that ever happened. It was finally Jill who pulled Chris aside and demanded to know how long he thought Wesker could protect him if he continued to act recklessly. Chief Irons hated Chris and was hounding for his removal due to this behavior but Wesker continued to intervene and claim Chris had been following his orders all along or even just taking the blame.

(Of course, Chris would realize later this was hardly the protective act it seemed to be. Irons too was in Umbrella's pocket and could make no moves against Wesker and frankly the hatred of Irons and the need to spite him was universal in the RPD no matter how evil you actually were.)

Despite this, or perhaps even because of it, Wesker took an interest in Chris and made him his unofficial protégé. While Chris was the best marksman in the entire police force his hand-to-hand combat skills were not to Wesker's standards and so Chris received the benefit of one-on-one training from Wesker several times a week. His combat skills had been no joke even before he became a tyrant.

It was the most invested lie Chris had ever seen. The most sincere. Had it all been false? Had that Wesker been pure construct, or a patchwork of truth where the lies came when needed but otherwise Wesker acted as himself?

(And yet that fucking _smirk_ as he aimed his gun at Chris and revealed his betrayal. That smug tone as he took credit for the deaths of his own men. "My little piggies", he called them…)

Wesker trained them all to the best of his abilities. He not only improved Chris' combat skills but encouraged his tenaciousness, honed his insight, commended his bravery.

Skills Chris would rely on years later to bring it all full circle and kill Wesker.

It was a lie, a farce, fake. Two years following a man who wanted to kill him.

And yet Wesker was a good captain. He pushed Chris to his potential and Chris in turn looked up to him. Began to admire him.

It was such a goddamn _waste_.

Chris barely began to doze on the bench he'd found when a police car slowly rolled by. He didn't wait for the confrontation and merely waved when one of the cops glared at him through the window and moved on. The car had certainly looked funny but Chris' alcohol-addled mind couldn't figure out why.

He gave up and pulled out his phone. The truck was a lost cause and Chris wasn't going to risk walking all the way home in his current state. He needed to call Jill or anyone for a pick up. Jill would be so pissed off at him, but perhaps that was what he needed. She would pull up and give him that look of disappointment… no, _disgust_ …and in his shame he'd stop this destructive coping mechanism.

(Coping for _what_? The nightmares of his dying teammates in a mansion long ago and far away had finally started to fade. The memory of his partner crashing through a window and falling to her death for his sake could be put to rest. The dread of his sister in torment at the hands of a monster began to soothe. Wesker was _dead_. What was left?)

No service.

What? Chris dialed again and received the same error. What the fuck. He'd had near full service back in the bar and he hadn't gone that far. Now he had no bars whatsoever. No data and no wi-fi which to try to connect.

He cursed aloud and shoved his phone back in his pocket and walked on, trying not to stagger too blatantly. It really wasn't his night; not only could he not find his truck but he was lost now too. The street was unfamiliar even though he was certain of his location.

When he came across a small motel he'd never seen before he went in. If he was that drunk he needed to sleep it off. It was a sleazy, cheap place, the kind frequented by prostitutes and drunkards… like himself. The man behind the counter didn't look concerned about Chris' appearance and didn't ask any questions until Chris tried handing over his bank card.

"This place look like a four-star restaurant, buddy?"

"What?"

"Cash only."

Chris frowned but started thumbing through his wallet. Fortunately he had enough on him because this place was cheap even by cheap and sleazy standards. Maybe it was best he didn't have his stay here on any bank statement.

The man took his cash and slid him a key without another word. Chris went to his room and first thing went to the toilet to throw up. He felt better, but only slightly due to the state of the bathroom. The room wasn't much better.

Holy shit, the décor. How old was this place?

With what foresight remained to him Chris managed to down some water before he collapsed onto the questionable bed and passed out. It didn't help and he woke to morning light with the wish for death as his head tried to split open. Another bout of puking, more water, and a shower helped and he managed to stagger downstairs to return his key. An older woman was behind the counter now, unimpressed by Chris' "good morning" and reading the local newspaper.

She lay the paper down to check him out (paper records, no computer) and he glanced at it. His glance turned into a stare.

**NIXON WINS PRESIDENCY!**

"What the hell?" Chris said, spinning the newspaper around for a better look.

"I know, I voted for Humphrey," the woman said.

"But he's dead!" Chris blurted.

"What, already? Assassination must be a good business."

His eyes moved up to the top of the paper, to the date.

November 1968

1968?

"What the fuck?"

She snatched the paper back and gave him a look that clearly said pay for another night or get out, so he did. Staggering into the daylight that made him suffer for his hangover, he hurried down the unrecognizable street to where he knew he left his truck.

He got drunk, got lost, and the old woman liked history, that's all. He was sober and thinking clearly again, so he'd go home, get cleaned up, and try to face another day of a shitty, infected world. Wesker's last little gift, he supposed. He tried to ignore the boxy, large cars of yesteryear that drove by him.

His truck wasn't there. Nothing was there. The city had shrunk and where there was once a parking lot was just a plot of land.

 

* * *

 

Panic set in. This wasn't an elaborate joke someone was playing on him.

His cellphone didn't work no matter where he went. The payphones on the street were real and worked, but Jill's number didn't. All the cars were old models, even the brand new ones. The city was just a town. Chris even bought a bus ticket and went to the next town to find the same thing.

Absolutely losing his mind was far more likely than him somehow being back in 1968, so he went with that for a while. He needed a drink, badly. But if anyone took an actual look at his cash they'd realize it was wrong for the time period.

No! Don't believe it! Don't believe in it or it might become real…

 

* * *

 

His memory of this transitional period was fuzzy at times. Chris finally accepted that, for the moment, he might be back in time. Real or not, he had to manage. Survival kicked in and Chris was slapped back into sobriety.

He needed cash, he needed a place to stay. He needed a plan.

He needed to figure out how to get home.

Chris managed to get some proper cash through casual betting and playing pool at the bars. He'd always been a decent player but Jill taught him to be an excellent one through the years. He wracked his brain for games or events of the time he could predict. It was harder than he thought; remembering game facts in case he ended up back in time wasn't exactly a priority in his life.

What he wouldn't give for a sports almanac.

With the money he was able to settle into a motel several towns over from where he started and buy food to hunker down for a bit. He needed to figure out how he got here. Drunkenness aside he remembered nothing. There was no flash of light, no woozy-time-travelly feel, no blackout he could recall. If he didn't know how he got here then how would he get back? What was he supposed to do?

God, 1968. He wasn't even born yet.

Fuzzy, a blur. Days made of panic and just getting by. Of loneliness. Chris was a survivor, he knew he had to take all options into account in such situations, and, horrifying as it was, he had to accept it was possible he wasn't going to get back, at least no time soon. He needed to prepare for the long-haul. He needed an ID, a permanent place to stay, something to _do_.

Wet, slushy snow fell from the sky as he went for groceries. Chris had to be thankful that he'd been wearing his heavy jacket whenever he time-traveled but he was going to need better soon as winter settled in. A hat would be good.

A woman hurried by, her umbrella tilted against the snow and wind to protect her nice clothes.

A red and white umbrella.

The world cleared and Chris knew what he had to do.

 

* * *

 

It was a timely process. Chris couldn't just go buy a gun and storm Umbrella alone, even in its infancy. He needed support, he needed a plan, and to do any of that he needed to exist in this time.

          He saved up the money he was continually earning through his betting and performing odd jobs here and there for locals who didn't ask questions and managed to get a forged identity. He should have changed his name, it was the smart thing to do, but he had no intention of crossing paths with his family (no matter how badly he wanted to see his parents) and the man he hired to forge his ID thought his name was fake anyway. He actually rolled his eyes when Chris told him.

          An identity and a new background, and Chris began the long process of getting himself back into the police force. It couldn't be anywhere, he had to be where Umbrella was, more important, he had to know what he was going to actually do. He couldn't just point at Spencer and yell about how he was going to create BOW and viruses and other such nonsense, there had to be something to stop, something he actually could, legally, stop.

Chris felt a presence behind him as he sat at the little desk in his motel. Someone who leaned close and whispered, as though ten years hadn't passed and he was still sitting in the STARS office miles away:

_Once again, the answer is right in front of you, Redfield_.

Wesker. Chris turned around as though someone was there but as always he was alone.

That was the answer: The Wesker children. Kidnapped from all over and held by Umbrella in a secret project even the other two founders Ashford and Marcus didn't know about. If he could somehow prove that Umbrella had those children then it could be stopped before it truly started. The children themselves would be freed from its influence.

Albert Wesker's entire future would change and with it so would the fate of the members of STARS. He would not create BOW and flood the black market with weaponized viruses that decimated entire cities.

Chris had to remember what he'd read about Project W in the files they'd recovered. It wasn't easy. He'd skimmed some, more in a vain effort to try to understand Wesker, to bring him down, but nothing had really stood out and the following battle and alcoholism muddled even that. Still, there had been one fact that he could recall, and that was that the children had been trained in the mansion in the Arklay Mountains before the construction of the laboratories below. They'd been released out into the world soon after that.

It always went back to that damn mansion outside Raccoon City.

The city was smaller, even more isolated than he remembered, with a quaintness and feel of a small town that had been only remembered in newspaper articles that he used to read back in his STARS days, lamenting the loss of old Raccoon City landmarks and other markers of progress. Umbrella was the boom that had made the city expand.

The RPD was still stuffed into a small building in town, the art museum either abandoned or on its way out, Chris couldn't remember. He used most of his savings to rent a small space above an old couple's garage while he established himself and then made himself known to the RPD. They seemed impressed by his credentials (he had his constructed background made as close to his real one as manageable) and, after going through the police academy (the RPD was not privately backed like STARS and he couldn't just get brought in) Chris was sworn in.

His work and getting promoted took so much more time than he wanted. Umbrella was out there now, preparing to or already doing terrible things and he hadn't yet made a move. But he had to be patient. He needed to locate the mansion and get proof of the kidnapped children. He needed a team that could help him infiltrate.

He moved out of the apartment above the garage and bought a small single-story house in the suburbs. The space and privacy was relieving but also just reminded him of how alone he was.

In a still-small town, the RPD was more relaxed than Chris remembered and making friendly acquaintances was easy, and yet he couldn't allow himself anything closer than that. He didn't belong here. And yet training and working alongside his team every day was forging a bond whether he wanted to or not, but it was lies. He was a lie.

Oh god, was this what being Wesker was like?

No. He was trying to save these people. He was doing it under his own initiative; there were no orders to obey. But time was moving forward.

He watched the moon landing live on television, surrounded by his astounded teammates and had to remember to keep his mouth shut about what was to come. In fact he remained as passive as he could for any and all historical events, claiming a lack of interest in politics and other such things. It didn't make him favorable to some, considering the civil movements of the time and the Vietnam War, but he was going to change enough when he brought down Umbrella. That was his sole purpose here. Once that was done he would dedicate all his efforts to getting back home and to whatever he would find there.

 

* * *

 

One year since his unexpected arrival to the past. Winter approached and stripped the trees bare. Chris managed to convince a few pilots to fly their helicopters out near the Spencer mansion, hoping to spot something untoward. He had to stop when the winter weather worsened and couldn't start again until spring. Time was running out.

Worse, the chief of police was not happy about Chris' distractions and helicopter 'joyrides' and called him to his office for a good dressing-down. Chris stood there and took it, yessir-ing and agreeing to not hijack their _very expensive_ search and rescue vehicles for his own ends.

"What the hell are you even looking for out there?" Chief Lowe grumbled after he finished his tirade.

Chris opened his mouth to speak the lie he'd made up for this reason, but hesitated. Oh, hell with it.

"Oswell Spencer, who owns the mansion deep in the mountains, is holding thirteen kidnapped children there. I was hoping to get proof of this so we could get them out."

Lowe stared at him, eyes narrowed. He reminded Chris of Irons in superficial ways, the man was heavyset from deskwork with shrewd eyes and an unkind expression, but unlike Irons the Chief earned his position and took it seriously. He gave a shit about this town and his men and was respected in the RPD.

"And how do you know this?"

"An anonymous tip."

"Bullshit."

It was a serious accusation. The Chief had a family, he'd just become a grandfather this year, and he seemed to take cases involving children personally. Moreover, while reclusive, Spencer was one of the founders of the newly budding Umbrella, which was offering Raccoon City prosperity in the form of jobs and industry. As is usual with such things, there were a few who were not happy with the prospect of the city changing and becoming reliant on one company for its success. It had already failed Raccoon City once when the mines dried up. An anonymous tip like that could be fake, someone desperate to discredit Umbrella before any deals were made, but either way it would have ended up on Lowe's desk and he would have made the call, not Chris.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, sir."

"Then I won't believe the tip. You're to go nowhere near that mansion, understand?"

"Sir… I can't. I have to get those kids out."

Lowe was glaring now, annoyed, but despite his dour demeanor he trusted his men and Chris had proved himself not only to be capable but reliable over the last year. He rubbed at his temple.

"Then give me something else, Redfield. If you genuinely believe there are kids involved then don't pussyfoot around it!"

Chris sighed. He already put his foot in it might as well go all the way.

"I know there are kids out there because I came back in time from the year 2009 and we'd recently uncovered that Umbrella had conducted human experimentation on thirteen children, all of whom eventually died due to those experiments except one. Umbrella will establish itself in this city and then go on to develop biological weapons, one of which breaks containment and infects the whole city."

Lowe stared at him, silent for a long moment, before he dropped his head in his hands and said, "You should've stuck with the anonymous tip bull, son."


	2. The Arklay Mansion

Despite the years that had passed and all the trauma in-between, that one night in the Arklay Mansion was burned forever into Chris' mind. With Wesker's death the nightmares began to fade but the memory itself was as clear as ever. Chris never thought that would be advantageous but as he stepped into the mansion the entire layout came to his mind, ingrained from the repetitious tracks he'd run finding keys and dodging zombies.

God, what was wrong with these people?

He took a deep breath and willed the shaking out of his hands and steadied his rifle. This was the same place, yes, but it was not the same situation. People still lived here, the labs below were incomplete. He wouldn't find his dead teammates mutilated around the grounds, wouldn't face a tyrant after it impaled the man he believed he could trust…

"Chris, you okay?"

He snapped back to the present and nodded. "Yeah, sorry, just… This place is kind of creepy."

"Kind of?" Lake Wright scoffed. He held his rifle low but at the ready, his stance relaxed but the way his eyes danced around the entrance hall showing him to be anything but.

"They really keep kids here?" Gary Doherty murmured, looking around at the grim atmosphere that was as dark and claustrophobic as Chris remembered. At least this time they could escape to outside if necessary.

"Quiet," Captain Orellana snapped before calling out "This is the RPD, we have a warrant! The building is surrounded!"

Well they had the K-9 unit in the back should anyone run, though Chris suspected everyone already did. The remoteness of the mansion meant that the only way out here was by helicopter, so anyone in the building would have heard them coming. That was if the snooping around and record pulling they'd been doing over the last several months hadn't tipped them off.

No one answered and the K-9 unit didn't see anyone making a run for it. Captain Orellana called them inside to assist with the room search; the mansion was too big for the four-man tactical unit alone.

"Lead the way, Chris," the Captain said.

"We should check upstairs first, they'd most likely keep the kids up there." He remembered the twisting hallways and rooms that seemed to serve no purpose other than to house traps for the unwary and assumed they had once been used for something or someone.

The K-9 unit began its search of the first floor while Chris and his team moved up the grand staircase.

"This is some mansion," Lake whispered in awe.

Chris shuddered.

Attempts to get visual proof of any children or suspicious activity at the Arklay mansion proved useless and Chief Lowe nearly dropped the whole thing, but Chris' mission was saved by some accountants, of all people. There were a number of Raccoon City residents whose paychecks were traceable to Umbrella despite its lack of operation in the city as of yet, which in itself was hardly suspect, it was a big mansion and would require staff to maintain it, including grounds and kitchen staff. However, the number was unusually high even for such a large building, with said staff's previous jobs marking them as teachers, doctors, medical researchers, physical trainers, and a former ammunitions officer from the army.

The final piece was the seizing of an order to the mansion from a local clothing store containing children-sized outfits when there were no records showing proof of any youths on the premises. Spencer or any of the listed residents had no children.

This and an 'anonymous tip' detailing the number of children, their approximate ages, and the number of each sex corresponding to the seized outfits was enough for the judge to sign the warrant, albeit unhappily. This would destroy Umbrella and with it the city's hope for progress.

But the city won't be blown away before the next millennium, Chris thought as they reached the landing and systematically began searching through the rooms.

If the building had been abandoned it wasn't until the last minute; a fire still burned in the study and the lights were all lit. Whatever traps and horrors were to come did not yet exist and the four men moved unimpeded. Lake whistled as he looked down into the dining room from the gallery. The west wing cleared, Chris led his team back across the catwalk in the main hall to the east wing to find the door locked. Gary looked ready to kick it in when Chris said he knew another way up.

Orellana let the K-9 unit know they were coming back down to use another route. So far they too had found nothing and announced the eastern side of the first floor cleared. Chris led them to the back stairs, staring up as they entered the high-ceilinged room. The windows were shut, the lights were steady, and there were no goddamn crows staring down at them. He released an unsteady breath of relief and crossed the small room.

Dread was still forming in his gut, not from danger but over the fact they had yet to find anyone. Umbrella had packed up and fled; Raccoon City would be saved but they would just start again somewhere else and Chris had no way of knowing where. He failed.

The stair creaked when he started to ascend, almost covering the soft sounds of steps and the slide of polished wood under a palm coming from the landing. Gary looked up just in time to see someone launch themselves over the banister and drop, a blade raised to split his skull in two. He cried out and barely raised his rifle to deflect it in time.

"Holy shit!"

His attacker fell back from the block but had barely touched the floor before he launched himself forward again, the machete he was wielding slicing quickly through the air and trying to get around the weapon Gary was using as a shield.

"Don't shoot it's a kid!" Orellana shouted, blocking Lake's rifle when he instinctively trained it on their small assailant.

"Kid, stop!" Gary yelled, "We're here to help you!"

The young boy didn't answer outside a snarl and dove for Gary's legs who had no choice but to swat him away with his weapon but he was barely deterred.

"Grab him!"

"I'm trying, he's fast!"

The machete whistled as it was whipped through the air, keeping the men away even as he kept going for Gary. Chris pulled out his pistol; he was far more accurate with it and could fire a shot near the boy to startle him except…

Blond, short cropped hair, intense grey eyes, and lips pulled back in a hateful snarl baring teeth that Chris would recognize at any age.

"Albert!"

The boy hesitated, turned to Chris with his brows furrowed into confusion, and it was enough. Gary dropped his rifle and dove, pulling the boy up and locking him against his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Albert kicked and yelled but could not break free or lift the machete.

"Drop it!" Gary snapped.

"Let go of me!"

"No, you're not getting away from me and it won't do you any more good so _drop it_!"

"You're intruders! You don't belong here!"

"Neither do you!"

Chris stepped forward and yanked the machete from the thrashing boy's hand. With his weapon gone, Albert calmed into seething silence, glaring at his captors. His eyes lingered on Chris.

Lake ascended the first steps of the stairway and watched the open door above while Captain Orellana contacted the K-9 unit letting them know they'd found someone and it was more likely that there were more in the upstairs east wing. Wesker refused to answer when asked, lapsing into a look of indifference Chris remembered too well. The other unit split into two teams, the first to come and support the tactical team and hold Wesker, and the second to move to the locked door in the upstairs main hall should anyone come out.

Gary set the boy back on his feet and handed him off when the first team arrived.

"I don't need to cuff him, do I?"

"I think he's done with his murder tantrum, right, kiddo?"

The boy glared.

With one last anxious glance back at Wesker, Chris led the way to the second floor.

They were met with no more attacks, the floor too quiet and seemingly as abandoned as the rest of the building. They came to the hallway of traps but in this time there were only four doors. Chris pushed open the first door and fell back with a grunt as a statue raced forward to impale him…

"Chris! You alright?"

He gasped, sweat beading in his hairline. There was nothing there. He wiped at his forehead, nodded, and peered into the room.

The lights were lit, illuminating a wardrobe across the room from the door. That was what he saw. There were three small desks and three beds, each with a boy sitting on it calmly, hands folded in their laps and regarding Chris as though bored.

"Shit," he muttered, "more of the kids in here."

Gary came in and gave them one of his big, friendly smiles. "Don't be scared, we're here to help you." The most reaction he got was an eye-roll.

The Wesker children obeyed when ordered to file out of the room and stand against the wall while the other three rooms were checked. In the second room two boys waited, the third bed empty, and in the third room three more boys. The fourth room held three equally calm and disinterested girls. The rest of the second floor was empty. The entire staff and residents had fled the mansion and left the children behind.

Why?

The children neither struggled nor argued as they were guided downstairs to where the K-9 team waited. Albert was returned to the group while Orellana called up the remaining team and ordered everyone back outside.

One of the boys from the second room glanced at Albert with a disapproving air that didn't belong on the face of a young child. "Where did you disappear to, Thirteen?"

Albert didn't answer.

"I bet he tried to run away," a blonde girl standing beside him said, her tone soft but smug.

"Shut up, Alex," Albert muttered, "At least I was doing something, not just sitting on my ass waiting for further orders."

"An undefined 'something', how useful. And you couldn't even do _that_."

Albert punched her in the face.

 

* * *

 

Once outside the children were separated into smaller groups under watch, Albert and Alex kept well apart from each other. The fight had not been easy to break up as Albert wasn't satisfied with just one punch and straddled her on the ground and kept pummeling, but she retaliated by grabbing his head and attempting gouge his eyes with her thumbs and rip off his ears. The other children had watched the fight with only vague interest until the tactical team pulled the two apart.

None of the children responded to questions about where everyone else in the mansion went or even inquiries on their health, which upon closer inspection was not as good as one would assume. Some of them looked too thin, one of the boys had a fading black eye and one girl had a cast on her right hand.

Gary had three kids and took it upon himself to try to talk to the children and assure them they were going to be all right now, explaining that they were going to be taken to the RPD by helicopter. He might as well have tried sweet talking city lawyers for all the looks they gave him. One girl finally took pity on him and identified herself and her "siblings" by number and age, but not name.

There were nine boys and three girls, their ages ranging from eight to twelve, though Chris honestly couldn't tell who was what by looking. Albert should be ten, but he was on the smaller side and could have passed for younger.

Chris couldn't help but count again; nine boys and three girls, twelve in all.

"We're still missing one," he told Orellana, "There should be thirteen. Nine boys and four girls."

When asked about the missing child, the helpful girl, who identified herself as Seven, merely shrugged. Chris noticed Albert smirk in the corner of his eye.

The children were going to get lifted out on the two helicopters with the tactical team while the K-9 unit did a more thorough check in the mansion and around the grounds with their dogs, waiting for a second trip. They assured Orellana they'd look for the fourth girl.

Unable to help himself, Chris stood watch over Albert's group. Maybe it was fascination that kept making him look at the boy, maybe curiosity, or more likely he wanted to be damn sure Wesker got on that helicopter and didn't make a dash to the woods.

Everything hinged on Wesker getting away from this life and Umbrella for good.

 

* * *

 

Along with the promise of jobs and prosperity, Umbrella had pledged to back the construction of a modern hospital in Raccoon City, a pledge that would now remain unfulfilled for an unknown amount of time. Chris didn't regret his decision to alter history, but he'd forgotten to what extent Umbrella's downfall would affect the town. He was reminded now as he stood watch over the Wesker children as they took turns being looked over by the overworked doctors and nurses of the single, small clinic that serviced the town. Outside of that were a few family doctors that ran a clinic out of their homes and made house calls. A couple of them had answered the late night calls and came to assist handling the 'poor lost children'.

They'd arrived at the RPD without incident, the children disturbingly docile to the point Gary worried they were in shock. The mere mention of it made blankets appear and Jen the dispatcher started making hot cocoa. The fact they looked at the sweet drink like they didn't know what it was was depressing.

It was in the midst of getting the children's fingerprints and making calls to social services and the next town over for missing child records that Orellana noticed markings under one of the boy's collar. Rolling back a few sleeves revealed old scarring on some of them. This and the current minor injuries (and the fact that Five smashed Seven's face into the wall earlier) made them hasten through the fingerprinting and get the kids to the clinic before any questioning or attempt at proper identification.

The bus arrived to take the children just as the mayor practically kicked in the door in stressed fury and Chris, Gary, and Lake were happy to take the out and left Captain Orellana to handle the initial reports and the mayor and Chief Lowe.

They mostly just stood around, trying to stay out of the nurses' way as they ushered children about. He didn't miss Two quietly informing a nurse he would like more cocoa. The Wesker children were being compliant, yes, but not polite. They didn't ask for things but told people what they wanted and apparently expected to get it. One doctor's eye was beyond twitching as Twelve, or Alex, told him how she would deal with her own injuries since he was clearly incompetent.

Chris kept an eye on Albert and took note when he was guided to an examination room by one of the nurses, a doctor following soon after. When that doctor emerged a little while later he couldn't help but inquire about Wesker's health.

"He was the only one who struggled earlier," he explained when the doctor gave him an odd look, "I just wanted to make sure he was okay."

The doctor shrugged. "He's dehydrated and a bit malnourished. After a couple of good meals he should be fine. All the children have old scarring and signs of injury of varying degrees. These kids have been put through hell, but it looks like they were given medical attention afterwards so it could have been a lot worse than it is." His voice dropped low, allowing out some of his anger, "Still, what sick people do this to children? Some of these injuries are years old! This was out at that mansion in the mountains? Is that fancy 'Lord' Spencer involved in this?"

"I can't say anything for certain right now," Chris lied.

Gary was still trying his luck with Seven since she'd been the most forthcoming so far. She was even more so after getting her head smashed, glowering at Five and explaining away clearly just to spite him.

"When did all the adults leave you guys?"

She gave a small tilt of her head in a shrug like it hardly mattered. "Two days before you all began trespassing, I suppose."

"Two days all by yourselves? The place was pretty well lit up."

"Of course. We must always ensure the mansion is welcoming in case Father comes home."

"And who is Father?"

She gave another tilt of her head and said nothing.

Gary didn't bother pressing that line of questioning, there'd be plenty of time for that later and most likely not by him. "Did you guys have food during those two days? Did anyone make sure you could take care of yourselves?"

"We _can_ take care of ourselves. We were told to wait, so we did. Thirteen broke into the kitchen stores yesterday. He's not supposed to do that but he always disobeys. Since it was already stolen we took it from him for ourselves."

He sighed. "You could all share, you know, and then no one has to be hungry."

Seven wrinkled her nose at him like the idea was abhorrent. "If you can't defend what you have you don't deserve it."

Chris watched the exchange sadly, feeling bad for both Gary and the children. Gary looked a bit distraught but he didn't understand the depth of how twisted these children became. Had they survived would they have been just like Wesker? Or was it, as far as Chris knew, that he was the only one to return to Umbrella what damned Wesker to his mad end? Had the others actually managed to create somewhat normal lives for themselves before it was brought to an end by the T-virus?

He didn't know in his own time, and he'd probably still never know in this one. Once all this was done with the children would be handed off to social services and would no longer be of concern to him. They were free of Umbrella.

"Hey," Lake leaned on the wall next to Chris, "Didn't get a chance to ask earlier, but how'd you know that one bugger's name?"

"What?"

"The crazy one, Thirteen, you called him Albert or something when he was tryin' to cut up Gary. How'd you know?"

"Uh, well… There were some names attached to the clothing order. I just yelled out the first one that came to me."

"That's pretty damn lucky," Lake said, his voice betraying he didn't believe it.

"It's been a pretty lucky night. Could have gone a lot worse."

"True. But I wasn't expectin' to find any kids, to be honest. Who'da thought we were about to get into bed with those Umbrella sickos. What were they tryin' to accomplish?"

"Who knows."

The doctors' findings were about the same, the children were overall healthy if underfed and so they were herded back onto the bus and returned to the RPD. The exhausted tactical unit handed them off to awaiting uniformed officers and went to find out how many more grey hairs Orellana gained this night. Chris watched Albert as he was ushered out of sight by the officers, an odd feeling in his gut, and then followed after his teammates.

Chris tried very hard to never compare Captain Orellana to Wesker, but sometimes he couldn't help it, especially when the Captain looked like he was about ready to eat someone's face. That happened a lot when government officials were around. Chief Lowe didn't look much better as the mayor vented his frustrations on the loss of Umbrella and the promise of city progress, not to mention how making such connections with revealed kidnappers and child abusers would make him look.

The judge had signed the warrant but Mayor Lundgren had made his displeasure with the whole affair known to everyone. Storming Spencer's mansion, which had been a staple of the Arklay Mountains for over seven years, would damage relations with Oswell Spencer by offending him and making them all look like fools if they were wrong. And how could they not be wrong? Kidnapping? Brainwashing and experimenting on children? What nonsense.

Mayor Lundgren had prepared for the impending apology; he'd been up all last night writing his statement and condemnation of the police force for not performing their jobs properly. He was not at all prepared for twelve abused children to be extracted and dumped into his police department.

Chris didn't give a damn about the mayor's reputation or the lost opportunities for progress. Something else would come along eventually or it wouldn't. If anything they'd have to make up some reason to use those electric trams underneath the city and would try to entice another company out to Raccoon City. Construction of the chemical plant Umbrella was to use had already begun so surely someone else could make use of it.

He was suddenly tired. Physically from the night's work but also a weariness from the sheer anticlimactic of succeeding in his mission. The Wesker children were free from Umbrella, which was now exposed. Spencer and his people fled.

It was over.

Chris didn't feel cheerful or even assured.

Seeing his men outside the door, Captain Orellana excused himself from the Chief's volatile office and made his escape, shutting the door behind him with a long-suffering groan.

"Everything hunky-dori as ever, huh?"

"Shut up, Wright. Debrief tomorrow morning and I'll need your full reports before the end of the business day. This is a mess and it's only going to get worse before it gets better so get a good night's sleep. Hell, debrief at eleven o'clock; I want some sleep at some point too," Orellana said, rubbing at his eyes.

"What about the kids," Chris asked.

"I'll keep you informed best I can but they're not really our concern anymore. They're going to be questioned tomorrow, probably be given psychological assessments to see how bad the damage is, then handed over to social services who are going to try to locate their families."

And that was that.

Chris went back to his lonely house and crashed, earning relief from any dreams and sleeping the rest of the night through. The debriefing included the K-9 unit's full report, including the discovery of the body of the missing child beneath the mansion in space being dug out for unknown purposes. (Chris knew, of course, but said nothing.) Initial report suggested she'd drowned but it was hard to tell as she'd been cut open and apparently experimented on. The coroner of course would have the final word. Nobody said anything when Lake excused himself to throw up when photographs were shown.

Files on the children had been uncovered and then promptly locked away, the depth of Umbrella's disgusting acts to be seen only as needed in the case of the children's care and not for the public. Mayor Lundgren was in damage control mode and Chris suspected much of this whole incident wasn't going to make it to the public's attention.

In the end the official word was that a cult had kidnapped the children as infants and was raising them as child soldiers out at the mansion for the usual cultish revolution. It was close enough, Chris thought, and despite the fact that Umbrella's involvement was glossed over its marriage with Raccoon City was finished.

Umbrella was finished.


	3. The Reason

It should have been over, but Chris lay awake at night, wondering. The Wesker children were liberated, yes, but Spencer was still out there, as well as Marcus and Ashford (well, one of them), so while the name Umbrella might be done what was to stop them from trying again elsewhere? Would they start over? Would Spencer give up on his Project W entirely and merely focus on his search for immortality through Progenitor viruses?

Or… what was to stop them from continuing the project as is?

Chris went cold at the thought despite his mound of blankets. The children had been released into the world sometime in their teens to seek out their own paths, what if all Chris had done was move that release date up?

The staff had fled and left the children behind. Children who followed orders and did not resist when the RPD came to take them away.

(Except Albert. Had he attacked them in defense or was it as Alex said in that he was actually trying to get away and Gary just happened to be blocking the door?)

If he was right, then Umbrella could come back for the Wesker children later. Wesker was part of the team that developed the T-virus but that didn't mean its creation was off the table. What had Chris really changed? It was possible, he realized with growing horror, that he actually made things worse.

If creation of the T-virus or any other Progenitor derivative went ahead and the children were once again exposed to it, they would all die except Albert. But last time Wesker faked his death and abandoned Umbrella, what if this time he remained in Spencer's hands? Would the conditioning of his youth still hold? Would he obey?

God, Wesker was in his late thirties when he was infected. If given a chance at a normal life, would he have a family? Would they too be exposed not only to danger but the virus itself?

Scenarios looped through Chris' brain over and over throughout the night until he couldn't stand it anymore and raided his fridge for a beer. He rarely drank anymore but now and again he needed his mind to just _stop_. One wasn't going to cut it, or even two.

He'd hate himself later but for now he welcomed the inebriation. He needed someone to talk to but there was no one who understood. He missed everyone. Barry, Jill… shit, he'd just gotten Jill back only to lose her again because he _somehow_ got lost himself.

He hoped Claire was doing alright…

 

* * *

 

The social services of Raccoon City had found its necessity after the loss of the mines years ago when hundreds lost their livelihoods and required assistance until the construction of the electric trams opened up possibilities. They had a child services office that had been formed to deal with the children of families who could no longer afford to care for them and the occasional case of abuse but for the most part they relied on neighboring towns for assistance. Rarely did a child that had to be removed from the home get to stay in town.

The understaffed office had not been prepared for twelve mentally abused children to be dumped on them and it showed as Chris walked in the door. The bell attached to the door didn't bring anyone to the front desk and after a few minutes he rattled it again himself. He was about to call out when a haggard looking woman poked her head out. She gave a large sigh of relief when she saw him.

Mrs. Ryan and Chris did not know each other per se, but they were familiar enough through work and the police had been working closely with child services over the matter of the Wesker children for the last couple of days.

"Sorry, Officer," she said, inviting him back into the offices, "we've been harassed all day by the newspaper hoping to get more about the 'cult children', so I've been hoping anyone showing up would just… go away." She sounded a bit sheepish on that last part but he didn't blame her. Small town journalists were no less tenacious than their big city contemporaries and this was the biggest event in Raccoon City since… well, her own hiring.

Social progress moved slowly despite the civil rights movement and many in the town were displeased with social services hiring a black woman into their child services department, but what the hell were they going to do about it. The one brick that had been thrown through the window she merely picked up and took home to add to her garden wall. Fortunately the vitriol died down to occasional grumbling soon after and people went on with their lives. That was years ago.

"I don't see you out of uniform often," she said, pausing at a rickety table with a coffeemaker on it and offering him a cup.

"I'm off duty right now." He took the coffee and downed it. It wasn't good but he needed the caffeine.

She paused and regarded him warily. "Then why are you here?"

"I was part of the team that got those kids out, so I just wanted to make sure they were doing okay. I feel like I need to see this through."

Last he'd heard the Wesker children had been put up in some rooms in the nearby motel and were under rotating watch. They were essentially in lockdown, both for others' sake as well as their own. Journalists had been trying to snap photos or get a few words in since the whole mess had become public.

Mrs. Ryan nodded and took him back to her office. A few others were hustling about with paperwork or talking on phones.

"I mean, if you're busy I don't want to take up your time…" he started.

"It's all right. Whatever I tell you you can still pass on to the department. Cops are never really off duty."

He couldn't argue with that and took the offered seat before she started rummaging around in her desk.

"Fortunately our neighbors' departments have been more than helpful and we've already managed to track down the families of most of the children."

"Seriously? That's great!"

"Yes, it turns out they are children of notable or influential people, so there was a quite a to-do about their disappearances. One popped up pretty quick and from there we were able to narrow down the search based on when that kidnapping occurred. They were all taken at around the same time. Their families are being contacted now."

"You said that most of the kids though."

"Three are still unknowns. We're still looking but information can only travel so fast."

It was times like this that Chris really missed the internet and police networks, but this was better than he could have imagined. Not only for the children who could be returned to normal lives but for these families who lost their loved ones.

He should have let it go there but there was an insistent niggling in the back of his brain. See it through, it said. He sighed.

"What about Albert?" The children had eventually given up their names at the realization they weren't going back to the mansion at all.

Mrs. Ryan looked up from her papers. "Albert?"

"The little blond angry one. He was the one who attacked us with a machete, I just want to make sure his family knows what to expect."

"Oh him," she flipped through her files, "He's one of the three who have yet to be properly identified. Supposedly the children were taken from all over so it's possible those three are foreign but we won't know until we can get proper identification. Turns out the children were given new names when they were brought to the mansion." She paused and glanced at Chris, "Really? A machete?"

Chris shrugged. "Cult kids, what can you do?"

"Yeah, the officers watching over his group are unnerved by him. Apparently he stands on the bed so he can look them in the eye and whispers about how he's going to kill them."

Chris shook his head. He shouldn't be surprised. "So what'll happen to those three if you can't find their families?"

"We don't have the ability to handle them here. They'll be sent to neighboring towns and put into foster care or nearby orphanages."

It wasn't unexpected and yet Chris still felt himself grip the arms of the chair in frustration. A chance away from Umbrella was still a chance but considering the Wesker children's inherent intelligence coupled with their brainwashing, putting Albert Wesker in a potentially unstable environment such as foster care to be passed around could end just as disastrously. An orphanage would be no better; the boy was going to need individual watching and care.

If his family wasn't found Wesker was going to get buried in the system. He would be impossible for Chris to find should the worse happen but he had no doubt Spencer could use his influence to track him down. And what kind of man would he find?

All that Chris had done would be for nothing. Wesker needed to be watched and guided to ensure he would not grow up into the man Chris remembered, and Chris was the only one who knew what to look for in that, was the only one aware that the stakes were higher than a boy's life.

He was the _only one_.

"I'll take him," he said, and despite his newest revelation he still surprised himself by saying it.

"What?"

"I'll take him," it was more confident this time, a new purpose unfurling inside Chris followed by a rush of certainty, "if you can't find Albert's family. I know what he's capable of and this kid needs proper care."

"Mr. Redfield, that is a generous offer but I don't… shouldn't you ask your… Are you married?"

"No. No, there's no one."

Mrs. Ryan sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Redfield. It's kind of you to offer, but Child Services isn't going to hand over a special-needs child to a single man with a dangerous career. Not to mention you aren't even registered or trained to be a foster parent."

"I lost my parents when I was young and practically raised my little sister. I can handle it." He'd had more than one scare himself with social services; if he'd hadn't learned to manage quickly Claire would have been taken away from him, and with the recent loss of his mom and dad that was simply not an option. It was also a reminder that nothing in life was a certainty, not even his own ability to watch out for Claire, and he'd started teaching her how to take care of herself in hand-to-hand combat and weapons training in case something happened to him. Considering how things turned out he was thankful for that foresight every damn day after he'd heard about what happened to Raccoon City and Claire getting caught up in it.

Chris continued, "Give me whatever applications you need done and courses I need to take, I'll do them…"

"Mr. Redfield," Mrs. Ryan interrupted, and Chris could hear the frustration starting to rise as well as the disappointment, "It's not just all that. I do not want these children to remain within a few miles of the place where they have spent their whole lives being abused, do you understand? The system isn't perfect and despite the horror stories you may have heard the majority of people in foster care want what is best for the children they look after and are doing their best."

"I know."

She sighed. "I'll do whatever I can to ensure that if the last three children remain unidentified that they'll go where they can be given proper attention, alright?"

Chris nodded, thanked Mrs. Ryan for the coffee and her time, and then left. He should have gone home or even back to the station considering his sudden restlessness, and yet he kept walking, meandering around the town center unaware as his thoughts spun.

The idea had taken root and now wouldn't go away. He needed to take in Albert Wesker and raise him. It was a stupid idea and yet the only one that would ensure the grim future of his time never came to pass, one way or another.

Either he would bring up Wesker to be a normal man free of Umbrella's ambitions or, if men could truly be born evil and never change, then Wesker would be close that Chris could end that evil before it gained any power.

The thought made him stop on the sidewalk and stare at the ground in horror. Could he do it if it came to that? Why not, he already _had_ , and for the sake of the thousands that would die if he did nothing…

He would do everything in his power to avoid that outcome, but if it came to that, _yes_. One way or another, time was going to change.

 

* * *

 

While Chris didn't visit Mrs. Ryan again he continued to prod for information about the children, mostly through Orellana, and the last thing he heard confirmed that Albert remained unidentified. He had to make his move before the kid was shipped off to somewhere else and while he didn't like this plan of his it was the only one he had outside of kidnapping.

He stuck his head into Chief Lowe's office with a friendly smile and was met by a tired sigh.

"What did Mateo do now?"

"Huh?"

"If you're talking to me directly and not through Captain Orellana then he must have done something to warrant you going over his head."

It was a not-so-subtle reminder to Chris that there was a chain of command to follow, but in this case he figured it was time for another direct intervention.

"No, the Captain's fine. I mean he's a bit pissed off 'cause we're all having a laugh at him because he tried dyeing his hair again like we all don't know he's going grey but…"

"Redfield!"

"I wanted to talk to you about one of the cult kids, sir."

Lowe glared at Chris. "Just when I was about to forget that mess for five damned minutes… I'm a busy man."

"Sir, one of the kids, Albert, is one of the ones that remain unknown. He's got no family, so I would like to take him in, but Child Services won't let me."

"What the hell does this have to do with me?"

"I was hoping that maybe with a good word put in from you…"

"Redfield," Lowe began, his voice casual but the rising anger was unmistakable, "Child Services knows their job; they are professionals and know a lot damned more about handling these kids than you. If you've been rejected then there is a damned _reason_. Now let it go and let these people do their jobs, let me do mine, you do yours, and _do not_ come in this office again thinking you can use me as your personal leverage!"

Chris was unfazed by the chief's anger but decided to try another approach. "Sir, you believe me about the time traveling thing, don't you?"

Another sigh followed by Lowe pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Barely. And that's only because you successfully predicted when the Beatles were going to break up and how the Apollo 13 mission was going to go. This whole thing with the kids didn't help, but I'm sure if I really looked into it there'd be a logical explanation for how you knew these things and frankly I'm almost afraid to do so because those explanations wouldn't shed good light on you. Maybe you were involved with the capture of these kids in the first place… Is that what's behind your sudden interest in this kid?"

"There is a reason. Do you remember when I told you all those kids were going to die except one?"

"Vaguely."

"The truth is I knew about this whole Wesker project because back in my time… in the future… I knew the one survivor as an adult. Albert Wesker. We worked together. None of us knew at the time about his past, he kept to himself, but eventually he lost it. A lot of people got hurt. We eventually found out about Project W and when I found myself in this time I thought if I could change things…"

" _That's_ what all this is about?"

"It was about saving those kids, sir, and there is much more but I don't think I should go talking about the future any more than I have to. I thought getting the children out would be enough but seeing Albert again and realizing he has no home and family to go back to… I can't leave it as is."

Lowe took a moment staring at his folded hands. He reached down and opened a drawer, pulling out a flask and taking an uncaring swig in front of Chris before returning it to its home. "You've already changed the course of history. The children will be taken care of, so why does it matter?"

Why indeed. The chief was right in that Child Services knew their job and would do the best they could but it wasn't enough. The way Wesker had looked, small but determined and yet, barely noticeable in the excitement, fearful, but also absolutely miserable when reunited with his 'siblings'. _Why did it matter?_

But Lowe didn't give him a chance to answer before he continued. "So what happened to this man?"

Chris shrugged, "Like I said, he just... lost it. I don't know how much were his own actions and how much had to do with his conditioning... I don't even think he knew what he was doing in the end."

"You were involved in his take-down, weren't you," Lowe said like he already knew the answer.

"He was dead anyway."

Exposing himself to Uroboros had been Wesker's last desperate act. He had nothing left: no allies, no grand scheme, and perhaps the extra dose of serum was already killing him. He'd put everything into Uroboros and his stupid new world plan and that failed. All he'd had left was killing Chris.

"So why does this matter to you? Why does he?"

_Why?_

"Because I thought he was a good man, but it was a lie. I was hoping that, maybe given the chance, he could be."

The silence in the office stretched out too long and Chris felt exposed, vulnerable, but it was the truth and he couldn't, wouldn't take it back.

"I can't promise anything, Redfield, but I'll see what I can do."


	4. The House that Wasn't Home

 

Chris shut off his alarm clock as it shrieked at him and lay there, staring at the ceiling in horror as the weight of his choices suddenly bore down on him.

He was picking up Wesker to bring home today.

_What the fuck have I done?_

Up until this moment, Chris had actually been excited. He received word from an angry Mrs. Ryan that he could foster Albert and spent several hours in her office filling out paperwork and even drove several hours to the next town for expedited classes. She wanted to know what the hell he'd said and to whom to warrant this but then shut him down when he tried to give her one of his planned excuses.

He spent the next day prepping the spare room in his house. It was small but would serve for a young boy. Chris had been using it to store his extra gear but tossed all that into boxes and then stacked them in the garage; he'd figure out a better storage situation later.

His teammates were baffled by this development but were helpful if not fully supportive. Lake helped him haul in some new furniture for Wesker's room: a twin bed, a desk and chair, and a small dresser. Nothing else would fit even if Chris wanted more. Gary enlisted his wife, Rita, to help Chris shop for things a boy would need.

The pantry was full, Wesker's bed was made and his room ready, Chris had made some calls to the school, and a spare set of house keys were on the counter.

The day was here, and Chris knew he was in over his head.

He couldn't back out now.

Guts churning, Chris cleaned up, did a last minute run-around the house to make sure everything was set, clean, or at least out of the way, and then got into his truck and headed into town.

A receptionist was waiting for him this time when he arrived at the Child Services office who directed him to a seat while she alerted Mrs. Ryan to his arrival. She came out to meet him alone, her mood improved from last time Chris saw her, though he guessed that was more for Wesker's benefit than his.

"I'm not happy about any of this," she said, "but for Albert's sake I hope everything works out."

"I wouldn't have made the offer if I couldn't handle it." Yes he would, he was stupid like that.

No, he'd make this work.

She sighed, unconvinced, and held out a card to Chris. "This is the number for a local therapist. Child psychology is a relatively new field but Dr. Pritchard has experience in trauma and I think it best Albert have someone he can talk to and who can help deprogram him."

Chris thanked her and took the card. Therapy was common enough in the future but in this time was still heavily stigmatized. It was both relieving to him that Mrs. Ryan had someone she trusted enough with this available to him but also worrying that she knew Wesker needed it.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

No. "Yes."

Mrs. Ryan once again led him to her office where a couple of uniformed officers stood watch over a boy sitting in a chair. He stared straight ahead in disinterest with his hands folded in his lap.

"Albert," Mrs. Ryan said in a soothing voice, "This is Mr. Chris Redfield. He's going to take you home now."

Wesker glanced up at Chris, his flat, grey eyes suddenly sharpening and his mouth twisting in recognition. He slid out of the chair and stood to his full height.

"I do not want to go with this man," he announced.

Mrs. Ryan lowered herself to her knees, meeting his eyes and placing gentle hands on his shoulders that he shrugged off, looking to the side as though she bored him.

"Now, honey," she began, "Mr. Redfield is going to look after you from now on, I've already explained this to you. You'll live in his home and you'll have your own room and bed and will go to school with all the other children. Doesn't that sound much better than being shut up in a motel with scary police officers watching you all day?"

"None of this is acceptable. I demand to be returned to Arklay."

"That's not going to happen and you know it. I understand this is hard, but what was happening at that place was wrong and you should have never been there. Until we manage to find where you came from Mr. Redfield has kindly offered his home to you. Don't worry, I'll check up on you regularly and you have my number in case you need anything."

"Like you're any better," he muttered.

Mrs. Ryan ignored his comment and stood, stepping aside and looking to Chris to take over. Chris was nervous and afraid it showed in the too-friendly smile he gave Wesker.

"You ready to go, kiddo?"

"Would it change anything if I said 'no'?"

"Not really. I mean do you have everything?"

With an annoyed sigh Wesker picked up a small backpack from beside the chair in which he'd been sitting. "You people bring me some of my clothes from home but then don't give me access to an iron or someone who will iron them for me," he bitched, sliding the straps over his shoulders and leaving the office without a backward glance at Mrs. Ryan or the officers assigned to him.

"Good luck," one of the officers said to Chris flatly.

Chris thanked Mrs. Ryan and then hurried after Wesker. They left the Child Services office and Chris grabbed the top strap of Wesker's backpack when he turned the wrong direction. Chris didn't miss it was the general direction in which the mountains lay.

"My truck's this way, kid," he said, steering Wesker in the right direction and gently patting him forward so he stayed in front of Chris. Wesker glanced up and glared but said nothing.

If there was one advantage to going back to right before Raccoon City's second industrial boom it was that parking was plentiful. Chris hadn't parked far from the office and while the streets weren't crowded the idea that if Wesker made a dash for it Chris might not be able to maneuver as easily and catch him made him glad they arrived at his truck within a couple minutes.

He unlocked the passenger side door and gestured Wesker in. He was about to give the kid a boost up but Wesker tossed in his pack and swung up onto the seat with ease. Chris shut the door then went to the driver's side. He expected Wesker to lock the door on him or something equally as petulant but Wesker sat quietly in his seat, looking around at the interior of the red 1965 Ford. He was especially interested when Chris started the truck and pulled out into the street.

"Watching how I drive so you can try it, huh?"

Wesker made a noncommittal 'hm' noise.

"Could you even drive a stick?"

"Who can't?"

Chris shook his head and headed out of town, the interior of the truck settling into awkward silence. Wesker gazed out at the streets but quickly lost interest in that and stared at his hands, picking at a thumbnail.

Coming to a stop at a red light, Chris looked over at his new charge. This was going to be a lot weirder than he first imagined. Wesker was smaller, too small really, with the smoother face that children all had and a lack of that proper, confident air of his older counterpart, but he was unmistakably _Wesker_. The blond hair was cropped short, not slicked back, and his eyes only seemed to gain that familiar intensity sometimes, otherwise looking flat and bored, but the man he was going to become was there…but was not.

Again Chris reminded himself how stupid and in over his head he was.

"Anyway," he began, "I was planning on pork chops tonight but if there's anything else you'd like to have I can try to whip it up for you. Kind of a 'welcome' meal, I guess."

Wesker didn't even look up.

"I'm not the best cook, I'll admit it, but I do well enough."

"It doesn't matter," Wesker said, rubbing at his temple with his eyes clenched shut, "Make what you want, Mr. Redfield."

"Chris is fine. We're gonna be living together, no point in being formal."

"It's only temporary, but fine. _Chris_."

Okay, that was not the best idea, actually. His voice was so much younger but Chris still tapped the brake as his hands clenched the steering wheel too tight. That fucking _sneer_ …

Suck it up, what else is the kid going to call you?

He took a breath. "Why do you say temporary? You thinking they'll find your family soon?"

"Because they will come back for me. I have a purpose."

Not if I can help it, Chris thought, and drove the rest of the way home in silence.

The house was a single-story ranch style, built in the early sixties and what a person with a positive outlook would call 'cozy'. It sat on a small plot of land, nestled in trees that made it seem like more by blocking the view of the neighbors just over a fence. It had a garage Chris never parked in and now definitely wouldn't as it was currently filled with stuff.

"Here we are," he said cheerily as he parked in front of the garage.

Wesker squinted at the house through the windshield.

"I know it's nowhere near as big as a mansion but you'll find it a hell of a lot less creepy." And zombie and PTSD free.

Chris climbed out of the truck and opened Wesker's door, taking the backpack while Wesker slid down and looked around, toeing at cracks in the driveway pavement. Chris went to put his hand on Wesker's shoulder and the boy ducked away, glowering and heading towards the front door.

"Okay, no touching," Chris sighed.

He unlocked the door and guided Wesker in. The boy immediately stopped in Chris' way and glanced around, his mouth turned down in disapproval. To the right was the kitchen which led to the utility room, which in turn had the door out to the garage. There was no dining room but the kitchen had room enough for the dinner table. To the left was the living room, housing a couch, fireplace, and the television which led to a short hallway which led to the bathroom and two bedrooms. Chris had claimed the larger room to the right that made up the corner of the house. Wesker's room was to the left, wedged between the bathroom and the utility room on the other side of the wall.

Chris had to admit the small size of the house had been advantageous in regards to décor; with no photos of family and friends, framed pictures, or extra furniture or knick-knacks, the place came off as rather Spartan as he'd spent little time in it. Fortunately Wesker barely noticed and his disgust was aimed at the house overall.

"You're really expecting me to stay here?" he grumbled.

"There are much worse places to be, kid. Believe me."

The tour was short, Chris able to point nearly everything out from the entryway. "That's my room," he continued as he led Wesker to the back of the house, "feel free to wake me up if there's an emergency or something. The bathroom… We've only got one so we're gonna have to work out a morning schedule once you start school and I go back to work."

"School."

"Yeah, you need to go. I figured we'd take a couple days to let you settle in but day after tomorrow I'm gonna take you down to the school for testing."

Wesker's attention caught. "Testing?"

"Just placement tests, so they know which grade to put you in. I know you're smart but I'm still hoping you can be put with kids around your age."

"I don't want to go to school."

"Nobody does," Chris said, unable to help the slight chuckle, "Don't worry, it'll be fine. Okay, here's your room."

Wesker stepped into the small space and looked around, touching the dresser and opening the closet, peering in. "This is all for me?" he asked, almost expressing an emotion other than bored disgust.

"All yours. I know it's not much right now but you can rearrange things if you like, decorate, hoard shit… Just keep it clean. Now I bought you some clothes but I wasn't sure on your size, so try them on. If they don't fit we'll exchange them, or if you just don't like them."

"How often is inspection and what are the expectations thereof?"

Oh boy. "No inspections, just don't let it get gross in here and vacuum now and again." Chris set Wesker's backpack on the bed and then stepped back into the hall, "Lemme show you something, Wesker."

The boy glanced at him, faint brows furrowed in confusion. "Wesker?" he mouthed to himself and then shrugged.

"This is your bedroom door," Chris explained, "I believe in privacy so if your door is shut I don't come in without your permission, understand?" After his time in the Air Force Chris came to appreciate something as simple as a door and the privacy it allowed, and considering the setup the Wesker children had at the mansion he felt Albert might appreciate it too.

Wesker looked doubtful. "No inspections and you will not come in if I just…shut that door?"

"Within reason," Chris added, "If there's an emergency or I think you're doing something dangerous I'll kick this in if I have to."

"I see. So to make you leave I just need to do this."

Wesker slammed the door shut in Chris' face.

"I did walk into that one," Chris muttered to himself. Louder, he said through the door, "Dinner's at six, we'll go over some of the ground rules then." He doubted he'd see the kid before that, if Wesker came out willingly at all.

Chris killed some time doing laundry, then watched television with the volume turned down low, one ear focused on the back bedroom. He heard a bit of rattling earlier, then the sound of furniture being moved and it took all his effort not to go find out what the little monster-to-be was up to. His offering of a sandwich around lunchtime was ignored.

He heard the bedroom door open when he started making dinner. He tried not to quiet his preparations to let the kid know he could hear him, especially when he heard the familiar rattling of his own bedroom windows.

Yeah, I bolted them from outside, you little shit. You're not getting out that way.

All the windows were locked inside and out. It was not an easy choice considering it was early June and already too warm during the day, but Chris was hoping Wesker would give up trying to run by the time things got sweltering. There was little he could do about the front door save watch it, but it had its own alarm in the horrible creak it let out, no matter how slowly it was opened.

Chris couldn't help but grin at the kid when Wesker poked his head out into the living room with a scowl. He disappeared back into his room after that.

The rest of making dinner was accompanied by Chris' inner mantra that he could do this, that this would all work out.

Wesker did not come when called for dinner but did emerge without a fight when Chris knocked on his door. He stood in the kitchen entryway silently while Chris pulled out plates.

"You hungry? You should be, I haven't seen you eat yet."

Wesker said nothing.

Chris sighed and loaded up Wesker's plate with a pork chop, some green beans, and a large dollop of mashed potatoes.

"You want some applesauce on your pork chop? Nevermind, I'll just put the jar on the table. Here," Chris held out the plate to Wesker who stared at it, "This is yours. Come on, help out a little, it goes on the table."

Wesker took the plate and held it awkwardly a second before placing it on the table.

"I said I can cook but I admit I don't do things this fancy most of the time. I'll try to do better now that you're here but this is kind of the peak of my culinary skills. Can you grab some glasses? They're in the cupboard right there. Do you have milk or water with your dinner?"

The shattering of glass made Chris jump and whirl around to Wesker who stood there, hands up and staring at the broken glasses on the floor.

"Seriously? Did you do that on purpose? Don't try to pick it up just… Just go sit down, Wesker!"

The boy backed up to the table and slid into a seat, his face blank. Not wanting the food to get cold Chris pushed the glass out of the way with his foot and grabbed two more glasses himself.

"I'll clean that up after we eat, don't go over there until then," he said, placing the glasses heavily on the table and then serving himself. Holding his own plate he took a breath. This wasn't going to work if he got so riled up over something simple like broken glasses. He set his plate on the table and then grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge. "Milk it is, you're still growing."

Finally Chris sat down to eat, sawing at the pork chop that was a little too tough, damnit. Wesker didn't move and continued to stare at a point beyond Chris' shoulder.

"Go ahead and eat. Try the applesauce, it'll help with the toughness."

Wesker picked up his cutlery and began to pick at the food, moving slowly as though waiting for something. Chris sighed again.

"Look, don't worry about the glass, okay? Accidents happen. Here," Chris spooned up some applesauce and plopped it onto Wesker's pork chop. The boy frowned at it. "Anyway, let's lay out some rules. We're going to be together a while though so these aren't set in stone, got it?"

Wesker took a bite of his pork and blinked, almost shocked it wasn't disgusting, but said nothing.

"Bedtime's at nine. When you start school I want any homework you have done before then. I'm not gonna put a limit on TV unless your grades are bad. What else… Laundry needs to be done. Do you know how to do your own laundry?"

Silence.

"Wesker, answer me when I ask you something."

"I can iron and press my clothes, but the staff washed them for us."

"Okay, I'll show you how. Until then just throw your things in with mine."

"Fine."

"Also, I don't want you out after dark, at least for right now. If you're, I don't know, out at a friend's house and it gets late give me a call and I'll come get you. Memorize the house number and have my work number on you on you at all times. Oh, and I don't want you answering the door; if I don't hear it just come get me."

Chris expected an argument or at least some sass but Wesker just nodded, focused more on his food. Well then.

"I guess that's all I can think of at the moment. Do you have anything for me?"

"What?"

"You know, things I need to know about you. Things you like or dislike, anything you expect or want to know about me, or me about you…"

"No."

It grew quiet again, even more strained than in the truck. Still, Chris found it was better than eating alone. If anything since he'd be cooking better food for Wesker it meant he'd be eating better himself, though he'd have to look into less time-consuming meals. There would also be more dishes…

"Oh, chores. I want you to help out a bit around here, but we'll start small. What kinds of things did you do around the mansion? Which girl was it…Laura? Laura said you guys kept the place looking nice in case Father," he nearly spat the word, "showed up."

"We just lit a fire or two and kept the lights on. Maintenance and cleaning were the responsibilities of the help."

"So what did you? What were your responsibilities?"

"I maintained myself. I kept up with my physical and educational regimens and kept my living space and clothes neat. Nothing else was my concern."

That explained a lot, actually. "Okay, we'll start there. Keep your room clean and do your laundry. Once you're more settled in I'll show you how to do the dishes and a few other things around the house. It's gonna be you and me so we need to learn to live and work together."

Wesker just stared at him through his lashes as he chewed, his eyes intense and focused.

 

* * *

 

After eating Wesker was dismissed and fled back to his room. Chris cleaned up the broken glass and did the dishes before settling in front of the TV for a bit. Aside from Wesker making a bathroom run he stayed quiet in his room until Chris knocked and reminded him to brush his teeth before bed.

It was one of those eventful uneventful days and Chris collapsed into bed, exhausted. He'd double-checked the windows and doors and decided to leave a lamp on in the front room in case Wesker ended up a late-night prowler. Chris had been notorious for that in his own youth, creeping into the kitchen for a snack when he was supposed to be asleep.

His bedside clock read a little past midnight when he woke to the sound of his bedroom door being opened. If Chris wasn't such a light sleeper he would have missed the soft click of the turning handle, the sound of the wood gliding over the carpet, the light from the front room leaking in, and the ever cautious steps of someone trying to be quiet approaching his bed.

"Wesker," Chris grumbled. The steps stopped. "Go to sleep."

He was not in the mood for this, he was tired, but he'd wait the little bastard out. Sure enough, the minutes slid by but there was no more sound.

"I know you're still in here. _Go back to bed_."

Eventually he heard the retreating steps and the click of his door shutting. Chris got out of bed, slid a chair into place under the door handle, and then crawled back into the sheets.

"You couldn't kill me as a badass tyrant like hell you're getting me as a child."

 

* * *

 

In the morning Chris made his first call to Dr. Pritchard's office to set up a consultation with Wesker later in the week and then started breakfast. It was another 'fancy' meal (ham and cheese omelets) to celebrate their first morning but Wesker once again remained absent.

Grumbling to himself Chris went and knocked on his door but received no answer.

"Hey, Wesker," he said, leaning against the wall, "I meant what I said about privacy but if you don't answer when I knock I'm going to assume something is wrong and open the door anyway. Want to try this again?" He knocked.

There was a pause and then, "What?"

"Breakfast is ready. I made something nice for you."

"I don't want it."

"Come on, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Up and at 'em!" and he started knocking again.

The door threw open and Wesker stood there, glowering up at him. He was wearing a collared, button up shirt tucked neatly into slacks and a _goddamned tie_.

"I am not ready. I demand access to an iron."

"You going on a business trip or something?"

"My shirts and slacks are wrinkled from being stuffed in that pack. Surely you can comprehend even _that_."

"It's just breakfast, kid."

Wesker's mouth dropped open like he intended to argue but had nothing to say, Chris' stupidity beyond words or something.

"Look, come eat and I'll show you where the ironing stuff is, deal?"

Wesker huffed and left his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"And take off that tie, will you? Have you been up this whole time?"

"What else would I be doing?"

"I dunno, sleeping in?"

Wesker went silent as Chris steered him into the kitchen and sat him down. He shifted in his seat until he was facing forward, staring ahead and hands in his lap. He ignored when Chris placed his plate with a fluffy omelet before him with a flourish and Chris couldn't help but roll his eyes as he served himself.

"You want some orange juice?" Chris asked and then served it anyway when Wesker remained silent.

Chris sat and started eating. His omelets were much better than his pork chops and he had to say they were quite good and found himself wolfing down his breakfast. Wesker sat still, staring somewhere else.

Chris paused. "Don't you like omelets? Go ahead, give it a try."

Wesker picked up his fork and began to eat slowly, each movement deliberate as though choreographed.

"How is it? Wesker, don't be rude and answer me."

"It's fine."

Figuring that was the best he was going to get, Chris gave up and finished his own breakfast. He started cleaning up before Wesker finished and the boy immediately stopped eating and sat back.

"Finish up," Chris told him, filling the sink. He didn't have a dishwasher and that hadn't been a big deal living alone but now he was regretting it. He heard Wesker's fork clink against the plate.

"So anything you want to do today? We can go into town and get anything you need. Do your clothes fit?"

"Everything's fine."

"How about shoes? Fine doesn't cut it for footwear and you're gonna need better than what you've currently got." They were good quality dress shoes but not appropriate for everyday life for a boy Wesker's age. "I didn't buy you any yet because I wanted to be sure they fit you. You want to do that today or wait?"

"I'm finished," Wesker said.

Chris sighed in frustration. "Okay, bring me your dishes."

Wesker stood and held out his plate, the fork lying across it tines down in what was probably some proper eating etiquette style Chris didn't know or care about. He took it and placed it in the water and Wesker disappeared, most likely back to his room.

Chris picked up the fork and… wait. He glanced back at the table, but there was nothing. Again he let out a long frustrated sigh. The knife was missing.


	5. Shadow Puppets

Having just arrived yesterday, Wesker had nothing of entertainment value in his room. His pack had carried two outfits and that was it, so Chris couldn't help but wonder what the miniature terror was doing in there all day. He may have jumped on the privacy thing too soon; it should have been something for Wesker to earn rather than be gifted immediately, allowing him to plot whatever Weskerly scheme he was coming up with without scrutiny.

Perhaps Chris had been hoping that by extending a bit of trust Wesker would be more amenable to him, but the thought made him chuckle. It was Wesker. It was too late now, though. To take away that bit of privacy without cause would make things worse.

So what was the next move? Well, he'd just been given a proper cause, hadn't he?

But first he'd promised to show Wesker where to find the ironing. That was one thing about the past Chris did not enjoy: the professional clothing standards were higher and he quickly learned he couldn't get by at the station in jeans and a t-shirt anymore. So Chris' closet contained a few business shirts that were usually dealt with by way of hanging them up in the bathroom while he showered but the pants were another issue. Fortunately, while unaccustomed to wearing a nice shirt and slacks to work, Chris was not unfamiliar with them overall and didn't have to embarrass himself by having to learn without access to internet videos. Tying a tie on the other hand was another matter entirely.

Chris knocked on Wesker's door and received a curt answer.

"I'm gonna show you where the ironing is."

Wesker opened the door, still wearing his little getup.

"But first, about those knives you snuck off with."

"What?" Wesker didn't feign shock or innocence, his face as blank as ever.

"That was cute, taking the butter knife so I wouldn't notice you somehow pilfered a steak knife. That's not gonna fly here, got it?" Chris held out his hand.

"I don't have them," he said, still emotionless.

"Hand them over or I'm revoking the privacy rule and this door stays open all the time since I can't trust you."

Wesker didn't move. "I have nothing. You took everything."

Chris sighed and pushed the bedroom door open all the way. The room was still immaculate though the furniture had been moved. The bed was now under the window even though the headboard blocked part of the closet. He'd better check the window later. "When you give the knives back you can shut the door again. Until then, this stays open."

Wesker's eyes sharpened and Chris almost expected them to start glowing, but all he said was, "The ironing."

"Got a one track mind, don't you? This way," and Chris led him into the utility room.

Between the washer, dryer, sink, and water heater the room didn't have much space and Chris had bolted some hooks into the wall above the washer to hold the ironing board, the iron itself hung on a third hook. He pulled the board down.

"If you need help getting this down don't be afraid to ask. I don't want you ironing in your room but you can in the kitchen or even the living room if you want to watch TV. Just keep watch on the iron, it's hot, okay?" The kid would probably need a stepstool.

"I know how to iron," Wesker snapped and took the too-large ironing board.

"All right," Chris said as Wesker stomped out through the kitchen, "Hey, can you get some of my things too while you're at it?"

The glaring silence was answer enough, but he figured as much.

Midmorning television wasn't worth watching but Chris needed an excuse to keep an eye on Wesker while he went through his few clothes. He believed the kid knew how to do it and do it well but Wesker left alone wielding a scalding hot iron didn't sit well with him. He had nothing else to do anyway; Chris took most of his vacation time to ensure the kid got settled and the two of them would have time work out some kind of schedule so Chris could return to work with minimal worry.

School, therapy, clothing, proper meals, homework, ensuring Wesker developed proper contact with people… Fuck.

While the idea had crossed his mind now and again, Chris had given up on the idea of having children. His job at the BSAA was too dangerous and too time consuming and after losing his own parents Chris had vowed that if he ever did have kids he'd make sure to be around for them. And that was discounting the danger he himself could pose to his children if he ever got infected with something, all it would take would be a delayed-reaction virus. Maybe when he was older, if he ever retired from field work… but even that made him hesitate as he wouldn't be young enough to run and play with his own children by the time they were old enough to want to.

The nail in the coffin of course was that the only person he could possibly imagine raising children with was Jill, and she hadn't made mention of wanting kids either. It never came up between them. But why would it, they weren't _together_ , so that was a moot point. They seemed to be running on a "what will happen will happen and until then let's just do us" mentality. They were partners, closest of friends, and complicating that with anything extra when neither seemed up to it was pointless. But then Jill had supposedly died, then he got her back, and she…

Unless he could find a way home to his time none of that mattered anymore.

Chris jumped as Wesker snapped out his slacks. Damn, he couldn't be losing focus like that when the little shit had a potential weapon in his hand. He glanced back at the kid, watching him iron with all the practiced ease of an adult bachelor and not a ten-year-old who should be outside playing baseball in the street with the other kids.

Well, Redfield, you rushed in like you always do and now you have a kid. And not just any kid, but fucking bio-terrorist extraordinaire Albert Wesker.

The slamming of a car door out front caught both their attention and Chris stood and looked out the window.

"Oh no," he sighed.

Wesker turned off the iron and set it upright, unable to help but show a bit of curiosity.

Chris opened the front door to reveal his two smiling teammates and Orellana looking as thrilled as he ever did, bearing what he could only assume were gifts.

"Hi, guys.”

"Hey, Chris!" Lake said, "We were just in the neighborhood…"

"No you weren't."

"…And we thought we'd stop by and see how you were doing and meet the little bugger proper."

"Rita made you a casserole," Gary added, holding out his offering.

Cursing his weakness for free food, Chris stepped aside and let them in.

"Hey there, Albert!" Lake said, then seeing his outfit, "You got a job interview later?"

"Wesker, you remember my team," he began but gave up on introductions when Wesker grabbed his clothes and left to his room. "Keep your door open!" he called.

"What's that about?" Gary asked, handing over the casserole.

"He stole a couple of knives so he's being punished until he gives them back." Chris gestured to the couch for his guests and went to put the casserole away in the fridge. Shutting the door revealed Orellana standing in the entryway.

"You locked up your guns, right?"

"Yeah, I installed a safe in my bedroom."

He nodded and returned to the front room. Chris grabbed a couple of beers and a chair from the dinner table and followed.

"Wesker! Come on out, don't be rude!" Chris called but was ignored.

"Let him hide for a bit," Gary said as Chris handed out the beer then sat in the extra chair. The couch wasn't large and Lake was crammed between the other two men as it was. "He'll come out when he's ready. It's been a rough couple of days for him, I'm sure."

"For both of us," Chris muttered.

"You wanted him," Orellana said, voice flat.

"I did…do. I don't regret taking him in it's just going to be a rough couple of days. Or weeks…"

"If you need extra time let me know, I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Captain."

"I'm off duty."

"Right." If there was one major difference between Orellana and Wesker it was that at the end of the day Mateo was happy to put the job aside for a while, including his rank. Wesker was always Wesker and had made it clear from day one that he was not their friend but their captain and there was a line that would never be crossed in that regard.

Lake took a swig and then tugged at his shirt collar. "Kind of stuffy in here, think you can open a window?"

"Can't, I bolted them from the outside for now in case Wesker tries to run."

"What the fuck, Chris."

"He wants to go back to those people, so until I get it into his head that he was ditched I'm taking a couple precautions. Once he stops trying to run away or kill me in my sleep I'll take them off."

"That could take a while," Mateo said, "The files on the kids said they were taken as infants and they've been raised in that mansion ever since. They've effectively been brainwashed. That kind of thing doesn't just go away."

"He really tried to kill you?" Gary asked, a slight level of amusement in his tone.

Chris rubbed at his temple. "It won't be the first time, I'm sure."

Gary set down his beer and leaned toward Chris, his voice lower as though aware Wesker was most likely listening in on them. "Look, I know this isn't easy for you either, but think about this from the kid's point of view. As far as he knows, we're the bad guys here. A bunch of strangers busted into his home and took him away, poked and prodded him, and then locked up. Now he's separated from the other kids, in the home of one of the men who basically ripped the world out from under him with no way out. The kid's probably terrified. What would you do?"

"The same thing he is," Chris sighed, slumping in his chair. It was one of those things that was obvious and yet never made it to the front of Chris' thoughts. Because Wesker never did _frightened_. If the man had ever experienced that emotion he either lashed out or ran away to lash out later.

"Just saying, be patient. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do either, I bet. Try talking to him, find out what his life was like and what kind of schedule he had."

"That's a good idea, but he doesn't really talk. Just hides in his room all day so far."

"Does he have a reason not to?"

Chris shrugged. "He was ironing when you guys showed up."

"Oh, I see your plan now," Lake chuckled, "Got yourself some free labor."

"He wasn't doing _mine_."

Gary glanced over his shoulder then shifted around in his seat, smiling at the hallway entrance. "Hey there, kid. Want to come say hi?"

Wesker was standing in the entryway, not hiding but neither trying to make himself known. He nearly shrunk back when Gary acknowledged him.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Chris said, trying for Gary's approach, "but these guys came to meet you. I work with them so you'll see them around later if you're not up for it today."

Wesker hesitated and Chris was certain he was going to go back to his room when he seemed to steel himself and came forward a few steps.

"To meet _me_?" he echoed softly, "Why?"

"Like I said, we work together. We're teammates. Sometimes we're practically in each others' pockets whether we like it or not. I know Gary's family; sometimes we go over there for barbecue. Mateo there's got a son, and Lake's looking after his grandmother."

Lake waved at Wesker at his mention. Chris continued:

"So since you're living here with me they want to get to know you. Our first meeting wasn't exactly the best, after all."

"So I should make nice with my kidnappers now?"

"They kidnapped you first," Mateo said, "We were trying to send you back where you came from, but we don't know where that is."

"My destiny is of more import than my origins," Wesker snapped, but it sounded recited. His annoyance was bolstering him and he continued to come forward step by suspicious step.

"And what destiny is that?"

Wesker stopped by the couch and deflated, his anger draining out and being replaced by tired control. "Nothing you'd understand," he muttered.

Chris decided to end this line of conversation for now; this was something for Wesker's therapist to handle. "Wesker, this is Gary Doherty, Lake Wright, and our illustrious captain, Mateo Orellana."

Wesker froze. His eyes widened and then narrowed and his mouth opened like he wanted to say something, and then he shook off his distress and smiled a pleasant, slight and yet all-too fake smile and said, smooth as butter, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Chris frowned and sat forward in his chair. That was exact goddamned inflection Wesker had used as an adult, every time he met someone. The same slight smile, same warm but noncommittal greeting, less polished but unmistakable. Scripted.

Not unaware something was wrong, Mateo picked up a box from the coffee table and held it out to Wesker. It was three paperback books in a slipcover. "Here, my son enjoyed these and I thought you'd need something to read until things settled down for you."

Wesker took the box set and turned it in his hands and Chris caught a glimpse of the title. _The Lord of the Rings_. Of course. Pulling out the first volume Wesker started reading the back, brow furrowed, when Chris cleared his throat and he glanced up.

"What do you say, Wesker?"

Eyes narrowed, Wesker regarded Chris as an indoor cat would a raccoon, wary but confused. "It's a book, Chris."

Gary stepped in, "When someone gives you a gift, Wesker, you say 'thank you'."

"Why?"

"You're showing appreciation for the fact someone thought about you enough to get you something."

Wesker processed this apparently new information then, with a shrug, said, "Thank you, Mr. Orellana," without any sincerity.

"Good enough," Gary sighed. Mateo didn't look offended and so Chris let it go for the time being.

Lake shoved Gary almost off the couch and patted the seat. "Come on, kid. Sit down and tell us about yourself."

"I'm fine," Wesker said, almost taking a step back.

Gary shoved Lake back and repositioned himself. "You don't have to sit if you don't want to, Wesker, but we'd like to know about you. Tell us about yourself."

Wesker eyed each of them in turn, his grip on the books tightening. "I am number thirteen in acquisition and twelfth in rank." At this last bit his eyes slid to the floor. "That should tell you all you need to know."

"It doesn't," Chris said, "You understand that people don't live like you did? So how about you explain it to us?"

Wesker looked down at the books he was clutching. "When am I expected to return these?"

"You're not," Mateo said quietly, "They're yours to keep."

"Wesker?"

"May I be excused to my room, Mr. Redfield?"

Chris was caught off guard by the sudden shift in the boy's tone. "You okay?"

"I am fine. May I return to my room now?"

"Yeah, if you want. You don't have to ask."

Wesker gave a short nod to Chris' guests and then fled, for it could only be described as fleeing despite the calm, measured steps.

"Sorry," Gary said quietly to Chris, "Guess I spooked him."

"Don't be, that's more than I've gotten out of him so far."

"Well tread carefully, that's how my kids used to be when they were naughty and tried weaseling out of a spanking by playing polite."

"Except I don't know what he thinks he did."

"Did you get access to the files from Arklay on him? Those might shed some light," Lake suggested.

"No, they're keeping everything they got from the mansion sealed up. I could try, next time Child Services checks in."

"Does he know what to expect from you?" Mateo asked.

"I laid out the ground rules yesterday."

"No, I mean does he know what to expect from _you_. How you are going to react when he misbehaves or screws up, when he does well, or needs something?"

"Oh. I guess I didn't think of that." But he should have. He'd gotten short with Wesker after the kid broke the glass, but that wasn't really at the boy but frustration at the whole situation… but how could Wesker know that? For all he knew Chris was going to beat his ass for a minor slip-up. Maybe that's how it had been at the mansion; the kids had been pretty battered.

He really did need to sit down and have a talk with the kid.

After that the conversation drifted away from Wesker and into work things or Lake's crazy grandma who still wanted to go to the welding plant in the morning to do her part against the Krauts and the Japs. (She was otherwise a delightful old woman, just incapable of listening when her grandson told her she shouldn't call people that anymore. Chris also wished she'd stop pinching his ass whenever he was in range.) At some point, Chris saw Wesker come and sit down in the hallway against the wall, watching them, but didn't call attention to him.

Eventually his teammates declined another beer and took their leave, calling out goodbyes to Wesker who'd again vanished into the safety of his room.

"Feel free to give me a call if you need anything," Gary offered as he stepped out the door, "With three kids I think I can say I got some experience."

Chris thanked him, gave a final wave, then shut the door with a sigh. He hadn't been expecting or wanting guests but he supposed it was a good thing his team showed up. If anything having their support and concern cheered him a little.

His team may not understand everything, but they had his back. He wasn't alone.

Wesker was sitting on his bed when Chris went to check on him, his legs just long enough his feet scuffed the carpet as he kicked them slowly. His new books were sitting on the dresser, pulled out of the slipcase but still stacked neatly. It was the middle of the day and yet the blinds on Wesker's window were drawn shut, making the small room stuffy and dark.

Chris leaned on the doorframe. "Can I come in?"

Wesker glared at him, or tried to. It lacked its usual intensity. "The door's open."

"It's still your space. I don't come in unless you let me or I think I have to. And if you give me back the knives you can close the door again."

Wesker looked to the floor, considering, then with a sigh got to his feet and opened the top drawer of the dresser, removing the butter knife and handing it to Chris.

"Okay, good. Now the other one."

"I don't have it. Honestly."

"I know you're lying. I'm gonna give you until tomorrow as a grace period, then I'm gonna have to come in and get it myself, understand? Now please give it to me."

Wesker shook his head and sat back down on the bed. "Come in if you want, I don't care."

The room was small enough Chris could converse comfortably from where he was but he accepted the invitation, such as it was, while he had it and came into the room, leaning against the wall opposite the window.

Wesker stopped kicking his feet and instead was rocking himself slowly.

"I'm not your jailer," Chris started, for lack of anything else, his mind suddenly blank, "I'm here to look after you. I know this hasn't been easy for you, but once we get past this rocky start… I want to trust you, and then I can allow you more freedom. This should be your home, Wesker, not just where you have to live."

"A home _is_ where you live," Wesker said, his tone dripping with such derision Chris could almost see it dribble down his chin.

"Technically, yeah, but there's more to it than that."

"Enlighten me."

"It's… It's where your family is, or where you can be yourself or…" How could he describe something he himself hadn't felt in ages? When was the last time he had a place he thought of as 'home'? He couldn't remember. "It's somewhere you want to go back to."

"I _want_ to go back to the mansion."

"Well you can't," Chris couldn't help the edge in his voice, "Hell, do you really want to? Really? Go back to being shut up in a mansion with those charming 'siblings' of yours?"

They didn't glow, but Wesker's eyes somehow lit in the dim light of the room. It made Chris shiver. "You don't get it, do you? We were not prisoners. We could have left if we really wanted to! We were taught survival, I've lived in the woods for days at a time by myself! We received the best education and training, we were _chosen_. In another year or so they were going to allow us excursions into the city, to see the world, and soon after that we were going to leave Arklay for good and make our own way. Father wants us to seek our destiny, whatever that may be, and prove the better and guide this world. Then you and your simpleton allies came and ruined _everything_ and I am _tired_ of playing along with your delusion of… I don't even know what you're doing."

" _My_ delusion?" Did this kid even hear himself?

This was not how this conversation was supposed to go, but Wesker had said more in the last minute than he had in two days and it was not encouraging.

It had been years since Chris smoked and yet he really needed a cigarette all the sudden. He took a deep breath and let it out slow. Regardless how Wesker talked Chris was the adult here and couldn't be losing control. Wesker or not, this was a child and he was not going to get riled up by a bitchy, goading kid with delusions of grandeur.

"Okay, let's start over. I am not the bad guy despite what you think; I need to know what's going on in your head so I can give you what you need. I just want you to talk to me, for whatever reason, alright?"

"You are nothing and your concern is empty. This is only temporary," Wesker said in that mechanical way when he was just reciting something, the earlier ire drained out of him leaving him listing to the side slightly.

Chris scrubbed a hand over his face. What else was he expecting?

Be patient. Nearly a decade under Umbrella and their sickening ideals wasn't going to go away in a couple of days because Chris offered a better life. For one, Wesker couldn't see that it was better. The gloominess of the room irked him and Chris grumbled and reached for the blinds to open them.

Wesker did not flinch. That would mean he moved and Wesker was still, but as Chris reached out he shut his eyes. Not tightly in expectation, but resigned. He thought a blow was coming and was ready to take it.

_The claws of the Tyrant ripped through the midsection and hoisted the body up, blood splattering everywhere, and then cast it aside._

Chris reared back, falling against the wall behind him. "Kid, I… I wouldn't…"

Wesker blinked at him in confusion with burning, red eyes.

"Shit!" Chris fled the room, stumbled into the bathroom, and threw up.

 

* * *

 

He had to force himself up to go make a lunch Wesker didn't want and Chris wouldn't eat. He threw a sandwich on a plate and handed it off to a pale-eyed Wesker who found the concept of eating in his room incomprehensible.

"I genuinely don't give a damn, Wesker, you can hoard an entire snack bar in here if you want."

After that Chris considered himself done for a while and lie down on the couch. The flashback was worrying but not unexpected, the hallucination however... Chris hadn't been mentally okay in a long time now and he knew it but he couldn't get help here. How would he explain it all?

Dinner was an uneventful affair. Chris reminded Wesker that they were going down to the school tomorrow and they would get him some new shoes while they were out but otherwise neither spoke. Wesker seemed preoccupied. The steak knife remained missing.

Chris had never been so grateful for a day to be over.

 

* * *

 

Something woke him up.

Chris lay in his bed, ears straining. It was almost two in the morning and Chris was groggy and yet still alert as his gut insisted that something was wrong. Despite the ensuing silence, Chris cautiously pulled back his blankets and sat up.

Then there it was: the slow, eerie cry of the creaky front door being opened by someone trying to be quiet.

Chris leapt out of bed and threw open his door, dashing into the front room and colliding with the side table in the darkness, cursing as the wood bit into his shins and he fell. The little shit had turned off the lamp Chris left on and dragged the table into the entryway. The pain turned into a boon as Chris’ combat focus snapped on and he used his fall as momentum and rolled to his feet, heading straight for the front door.

Wesker saw him coming and bolted out into the night.

"No you don't!"

Chris barreled after him, the faster of the two but still worried Wesker could slip out of sight into the darkness. Fortunately Wesker made an instinctive run for the trees only to hesitate and redirect himself when he saw the outline of the fence, allowing Chris to gain on him quickly. The boy was wearing his backpack and Chris grabbed at it but didn't slow, reaching for Wesker's arm before he could slip out of the straps. Wesker spun, arm flicking across Chris' view before a sharp pain seared up his arm as a blade sliced through his flesh, deep and long. Chris cursed and let go.

Found the steak knife.

Wesker jumped back, knife held out expertly, but decided against trying to fight a grown man with it. He ran, changing direction and relying on Chris' injury to distract him long enough, but Chris was able to mentally discard it.

Chris was back on him in a second. He dove, wrapped his arms around Wesker, pinning one of his arms, before spinning himself around so his back hit the ground. He then rolled and pinned Wesker beneath him when the boy's heel nearly landed home in his crotch.

"Let go of me!"

"Stop fighting me and calm down."

" _Let me go!_ "

Chris grabbed his arm and pinned it, "Drop the knife."

"No. Break my fingers if you want it."

Chris hated that he was tempted. Instead he wrestled Wesker's arms behind him and pinned them just below his backpack, swung his knee over the kid's legs to keep him from kicking, and then used his free hand to hold Wesker's head and shoulders down when he kept bucking. The boy was small enough that once down he was easy to hold.

"That's _enough_. You're not getting away so stop struggling."

" _Fuck you_."

"Damnit, Wesker! Get it through your head already, they _ditched you_. Your stupid Umbrella _masters_ knew we were coming for days and still left you behind!"

"I'm going to find them, and then I'll be praised for my initiative. I'll prove the better." He was still angry, but the savage vitriol in Wesker's voice was quieting and his struggles calming. Chris didn't ease up his hold.

"They left you there on purpose. They wanted us to find you, don't you get it?"

"No, that's not…"

"You said so yourself, they were going to start letting you out soon. I'm guessing they decided to push things ahead. You wanted to go out into the world, well, here you are!"

Wesker stilled. "Everything is wrong," he said softly.

"No," Chris sighed, "everything is normal, but you can't know that. Everything you learned is wrong."

Wesker snarled and started struggling again. "We are trained and highly educated and..."

"It's shadow puppets, Wesker!"

The boy went quiet again. "What?"

Chris wasn't sure; he kind of just blurted it out. The memory was hazy, some unimportant thing from long ago. "Shadows…on the wall. Something about a cave. You've only ever known that mansion and what they've told you. That's your cave and everything you know is just shadow puppets on a wall."

"You're talking about Plato's Allegory of the Cave?"

"Yeah, that's it! Everything seems so wrong lately because you're used to shadow puppets."

"They were just shadows, Chris."

"What I'm saying is that you've been let out of your cave and the world is strange to you. You're educated as all hell, sure, probably more than I'll ever be, but you don't have the experience. That's why I'm here. I want to help you."

Wesker was quiet, considering.

"It's just eight years. Eight years being looked after and going to school and then you turn eighteen and can do whatever you want. If you still want to track down those people I won't be able to stop you."

Yes he would. He would have to, but Wesker didn't need to know that.

"So, what? I live with you, play nice, and you show me how to get by in the world?"

"Something like that," Chris sighed.

"The ground is cold."

"Are you going to keep trying to run away or kill me in my sleep?"

Wesker remained quiet a long time. "I will… stay with you until a better option presents itself."

"Good enough." Chris stood and dragged Wesker to his feet. He still didn't let go of his arm as he steered him back towards the house. Thank god the neighbors either didn't hear any of the scuffle or chose to ignore it.

"I'm honestly surprised you know about the Allegory of the Cave."

You're the one who told me about it, Chris thought. Nobody had liked driving with Captain Wesker anywhere as he would, without fail, find the most boring station on the radio and then talk about absolutely nothing for hours if they let him. He must have had so much shit in his head he had to get it out somehow, and Chris pulled the short straw once and listened to Wesker babble on about allegories and philosophy and somehow some of it stuck.

“I know I don’t look it but I’m not a complete idiot.”

"You know that's not what the allegory means, right?"

"No, and honestly, Wesker, I don't care."

He pushed the boy back inside, sliding off his backpack. It was heavy. He pulled it open and found some food from the pantry and tools from the utility room. When the hell had he pilfered those? Whatever. He dropped the bag on the floor to be dealt with in the morning and retrieved the fallen lamp, standing it up and turning it back on. Wesker blinked owlishly in the light.

"I turned this on for a reason," Chris said.

"I know, but I can see in the dark. You can't."

You can't either you little liar, though when Chris thought about it he remembered that Wesker had been traipsing around in woods at night with sunglasses on and could still shoot straight. Had the T-virus of all things made his vision worse?

A creeping pain that turned sharp made him realize there was blood still running down his arm. He wiped at it in a futile attempt to spare the carpet.

"I think it's time you gave me that knife back."

"I might need it."

"Well not that one I use it for food. And consider it a gesture of good will on your part, agreeing not to run again."

Wesker hesitated, then handed over the bloody knife.

"Good. Now go to bed,” Chris said, then went to the kitchen. He tossed the knife into the sink and grabbed a handful of paper towels, pressing them to the wound before he dared cross the front room to get to the first aid kit in the bathroom.

Wesker was still standing there, watching him.

“I said go to bed, you’ve got testing tomorrow.”

Despite everything, he was sure Wesker was going to keep his word and not make a run for it while Chris cleaned himself up, at least for tonight. Wesker would try another plan later. It’s what he did. Chris was’t foolish enough to believe he’d comletely swayed the kid. Yet after disenfecting and bandaging his wound (he might need stitches, damnit) he was surprised to find Wesker still standing in the front room, as though waiting.

“Wesker, I am very tired and I bet you are too. Go to bed.”

The boy got that distressed look again, like he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. “But I... I failed, and harmed you, and...”

“Look, we’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

“Why tomorrow?” he hissed, as though being strangled. His proper mien began to crumble even more and he started to twist his fingers together.

Chris took a deep breath. He thought he was doing very well keeping calm and reasonable in light of being stabbed and everything, but his patience was nearly done.

“Wesker, get into bed. _Now_.”

There was the usual hesitation but then Wesker obeyed and vanished into the hall.  Chris stood and listened to him move around his room as he changed, waited for his light to go out, and then the rustle of bedclothes as he got into bed before he double-checked the front door, righted the now broken side table, and went back to his own room, shoving the chair under the door again. Just in case.

Chris didn’t sleep for a long time, and for the rest of the night Wesker was quiet, not even making a bathroom run.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this story in my head a while and decided to work on it for NaNoWriMo. I tweak it a bit before I post it but it will still be a bit sloppy due to this. Also, I am looking up things best I can but for the sake of moving forward I am occasionally taking liberties with RE lore as well as how police and other things work. Feel free to correct me on anything, because even if I can't actually fix it in the fic I can take notes for next time.  
> Artwork mine unless stated otherwise.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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